The Ice Prince (Harlequin Presents) by Marton Sandra

Author:Marton, Sandra [Marton, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2011-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

Anna slept.

At least she thought she’d slept, because she opened her eyes and saw that the room was dark.

Someone had shut off the light. Drawn up the duvet that had been left, folded, at the foot of the bed.

No. Not “someone.” Draco. She was in his arms, draped over him, skin to skin, her face against his throat, her hand splayed over his chest.

She could feel his heart beating slowly, steadily against hers.

Amazing, that she had fallen asleep in his arms. Amazing, that she had fallen asleep at all. She never slept after sex.

Well, yes. Of course she did, but never in a lover’s arms.

After sex she liked to lie quietly with her lover for a while. They might talk or cuddle, and then she’d say that it was getting late and she had a busy day tomorrow, or whatever it took to remind the man it was time to leave her bed.

At least she’d stayed true to form for that. This was a hotel bed, but it was hers for tonight. And when a relationship reached the point where having sex was part of it, she wanted it to be in her own bed.

Not the man’s.

It wasn’t a rule or anything—it was just the way it was.

You brought a man into your bed, you remained in charge. You could tell him when it was time to go; you didn’t have to suffer the ignominy of walking past a doorman, of getting into a taxi at eight in the morning wearing what you’d worn the night before.

And you avoided the kind of situation that might lead to a lover thinking you wanted the forevermore thing.

Anna had seen the forevermore thing, close up. Her father dominating her mother’s very existence. Her mother living the life of a second-class citizen.

Start to finish, you were the one in control when the bed you slept in belonged to you.

Men had an intuitive understanding of that basic fact.

She’d once overheard her brothers talking as they lazed around in the conservatory of the Orsini mansion, drinking beer and BS-ing with an eye on the clock after some family occasion none of them had wanted to attend.

They were guys, and not married back then, so the conversation eventually got around to women.

Anna, hidden in the depths of an oversize wing chair, had started to stand up and tell them they might want to curtail the chatter until she was out of earshot, but before she could, Rafe had said he’d been thinking.

“Thinking,” Dante had said. “You?”

“About, you know, what would be the perfect woman,” Rafe had said, ignoring the dig. “Like, if she stayed the night, she wouldn’t help herself to my razor to shave her legs.”

There’d been murmurs of agreement all around.

“Right,” Nick had said, “and she’d carry her own toothbrush in her purse.”

“And she wouldn’t want conversation in the morning,” Dante had added.

That had elicited a grunt from Falco, Anna remembered wryly.

“What you guys mean is that the perfect woman would appear in your bed when you needed her, and disappear like Tinker Bell when you didn’t.

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